Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Kate and I have been best friends since we met in college several years ago. She sat in front of me in Intro to Public Relations and only ignored me on the days that I wore my hair differently and she “didn’t recognize” me. Right, cause I look like a different person when my hair is in a ponytail.

Flash-forward to 2010. We’ve both lived in New York for a good amount of years. After college, Kate holed up in her tuna can-sized apartment in Manhattan while my boyfriend and I decided on the much cheaper (and still expensive as all hell) basement apartment in Brooklyn. After four years, she still has no idea which subway to take to my place, but Kate and I have remained good friends, despite our differences. The main difference you ask? My answer would probably be “weight”…or something equally superficial. But if you asked Kate, I’d put money on her answer: MARRIAGE.

You see, my long-time boyfriend is now my husband and even though she was a stunning addition to our August nuptials, Kate is now convinced we no longer live on the same planet. In an effort to convince her of my undying loyalty, even if times of, ahem, marriage, my husband and I took the correct subway to Kate’s place last weekend for a lovely double date…with Kate and her, uh, gay neighbor.

“I have a date tonight,” Kate typed to me over Gchat one day.

“Of course you do,” I replied, clearly not surprised. Kate goes on more dates than The Bachelor during the first 5 episodes of the season.

“Will you and Dave puhleeeeeeease come on the date with me? We can do a super fun double date. Isn’t that what married people do?”

“That’s exactly what married people do, Kate. See you tonight.”

Dave and I arrive to Kate’s tuna can to find that she’s already downed 2 glasses of wine. When you weigh approximately 8 pounds, two glasses of wine is the same as 20 for someone with a normal-sized bigger body.

“You know how I get nervous,” Kate lies. “Just be glad it was wine this time and not SoCo.”

The gay neighbor (Kate’s date) arrives. He seems nice enough, though he’s shorter than my 45 pound dog and just as hairy. Kate introduces us and we all move to the living room to enjoy superficial conversation and (more importantly) some cocktails.

And then it happens.

While telling us about his fantastic lawyer job for the 18th consecutive minute, the date (let’s call him Frank) begins carefully removing his shoes. Mind you, we are in Kate’s mid-town apartment, not a mosque in Rome. Once he’s barefoot in front of his first date and her married counterparts, Frank sits on the couch. Indian-style. We’re talking sitting around a campfire singing Kumbaya Indian-style. Now, if a double date isn’t awkward enough, he has to go and do that.

“Nice socks,” quips Dave.

“Oh! Thanks. I got them while I was in Paris this summer.”

That explains why there are French baguettes all over them.

“Nice, did you go for work or play?” I ask, trying to look at his face, not the socks.

“Play. I love to play.”

This is going to be a long night.

Later, we feast on homemade cookies baked by, yep you guessed it, Frank. The play loving, Indian-style sitting, hairy, short neighbor is also a pastry chef.

The rest of the night is kind of a blur but here are the highlights:

• After consuming 6 cookies, Frank farted on the couch while he was sitting Indian-style. The fart shot out through the hole where his legs were crossed over each other.

• Kate asked her lawyer date to recite all the ammendements AND the presidents in chronological order. When he couldn’t remember George Bush (yes, the last president) Kate groaned and chugged her wine.

• Dave left to “get more wine” and didn’t come back. I found him at the bar around the corner on my way out. He has a foot phobia, so I let it slide.

• Frank sneezed and snot adhered itself to his cheek and chin. Kate didn’t make it awkward when she grabbed a tissue and wiped it herself.

Finally, it’s time to leave. I decide to leave after Frank, so he can’t put the moves on Kate. He puts on his shoes and moves toward the door. Kate opens it and thanks him for the cookies and the thrilling conversation.

“Thanks for having me over, Kate.”

“Thanks for coming…bye!” Kate has the tendency to, uh, be awkward in awkward situations. Like extremely awkward.

For a second, it looks like he’s moving in for the kiss. I can’t believe it. I’m standing right here! Here comes Kate and the awkwardness again…

“Um, I will talk to you later, Frank. Bye!” She shuts the door. On his face. Like literally.

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About Me

My name is Kate and I am a 24-year-old single girl living in Manhattan. My friends say I go on more bad dates than anyone they've ever met. I agree, so I've decided to start sharing the stories behind my quest to find love.
While all events are real, names will be changed so as to protect the innocent, idiotic, and deadbeat.
Wish me luck!